


i want love in the aftermath

by domeric_bolton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, School Dances, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domeric_bolton/pseuds/domeric_bolton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from thao and the get down stay down's "holy roller." fun fact the working title was "smiling, always smiling" but i dont hate myself <i>that</i> much.</p><p>(tw for underage sex/vague nondescript mentions of child abuse)</p>
    </blockquote>





	i want love in the aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> title from thao and the get down stay down's "holy roller." fun fact the working title was "smiling, always smiling" but i dont hate myself _that_ much.
> 
> (tw for underage sex/vague nondescript mentions of child abuse)

The Starks are that Norman Rockwell-esque kind of family that always comes together to eat dinner. Everyone washes their hands before dinner, prays to all their hundreds of gods together (except Mrs. Stark, because she's a southerner and only prays to seven), and discusses how their days went. Even the food is picture-perfect: meat, starch, vegetable, and a small serving of dessert after the dishes have been cleared. Theon has stayed in this house for eight years, and the formality of something as simple as dinner still kind of amazes him.

It isn't like his real family, the other Greyjoys, is poor or anything. Sure, everyone on the Indigenous Iron Islands Reservation is a little less well off than most of Westeros, but his family manages. Or so he's heard -- Theon hasn't seen them in a while. Because the thing is, Theon's family isn't the kind of family that values things like adequate parenting or becoming a close, loving family like the Starks. They just don't put effort into that stuff. The Greyjoys are part of the legendary Ironborn tribe, after all, and that means you have to be loyal to your family above all else. The unofficial Ironborn family rules don't say anything about loving anyone. 

(His father loved Rodrik, though. And he loved Maron. And he still loves Asha more than his own wife, but he doesn't love-)

 _Whatever,_ Theon thinks forcefully as he sits down heavily in his chair. Dacey, his therapist, says he shouldn’t dwell on his negative thoughts about his family.

Neither Theon nor Jon are allowed to sit with the other Starks; instead, they are exiled to the far corners of the long wooden table where Mrs. Stark doesn't have to look at them. Theon sits opposite Jon and to the right of Bran, who is young and a little whiny but infinitely better than baby Rickon, who uses people's fingers for teething.

Jon is a mournful fifteen year old with sad grey eyes that match Mr. Stark's, but his coarse curly black hair marks him as illegitimate. Theon used to feel jealous of Jon's half-Stark blood that marked him a member of the family, but after about a year of living with the Starks he realized that Jon didn’t have it any better than him, and they’ve since then struck up an odd sort of friendship.

"Hey, Theon," Jon greets him, eyes under the table. A white earbud wire snakes out of his left ear, and Theon's willing to bet anything that Jon's still watching his awful anime on his iPhone under the table again. Fucking weeaboos, him and Sam and the rest of them.

"Hey, Snow." Theon doesn't rat Jon out to Mrs. Stark like he usually would, because he feels good; all sleepy and sated from his orgasm. He's been trying not to jerk off before what Mrs. Stark calls "family functions," which are much too fancy words for just freaking dinner, except that Loras Tyrell got him into some kind of grindr/omegle crossover that's just a webcam site for guys to have video sex. So he's been a little busy. (But at least he washes his hands afterwards).

"Don't tell Robb," Loras had giggled when he wrote down the webcam site- _www.cam-me-2-u.com_ \- on Theon's history binder. "Too many creepy guys on there who’d corrupt his purity, you know?"

"Why the fuck d’you think I'd tell Robb about some gay porn site?"

"It's not just porn, it's actually cool. There's a chat option and everything, you don't just have to jack off to some guy on camera." Loras had then put a hand on Theon's shoulder and said, "But seriously, you and Robb talk about everything. Don't tell him about this."

For the record, Theon had come out to Robb. It was hard not to, when Robb had caught him and Loras fooling around back in freshman year, and Robb had immediately started crying. Robb, who was twelve at the time, had yelled out, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE A... A HOMOSEXUAL?" (Which, also for the record, was incorrect, but Theon didn't feel like explaining bisexuality to a seventh grader while holding another boy's cock.) And it isn't like Theon really needs to hide anything about his sexuality here- North Westeros is more or less accepting of queer people. Not as much as South Westeros is, but Theon's been to Dorne, and he figures that even he can’t handle all that. 

Once Theon made a joke about himself and Loras to Arya, and she had scrunched up her face before retorting, "I know you're gay, Theon, but why are you always talking about it? It's not like I'm constantly telling everyone I'm straight." (Which, technically, was incorrect, but Theon didn't feel like explaining heteronormativity to a seven year old.)

The people of the Iron Islands were just fine with homosexuals. Being accepted in the Ironborn tribe just meant that you worked hard and didn't show any weakness, so women and queer people alike made it just fine on the reservation, as long as they were tough, and masculine, and a little scary. But Balon Greyjoy never subscribed to the idea of acceptance, so it ended up that being forced to move up North did have a few perks. One was a best friend who only was upset with his coming-out because he hadn't been told before. The other was Theon's freedom to call himself queer without knowing that his father would beat him if he heard.

“Theon.” Jon kicks him under the table, eyes still on his phone. "I asked if you wanted some more milk."

"Sorry, sure." Theon has a bad habit of spending too much time "dwelling on the past without looking at the future," or so Dacey would say.

He takes the milk and Jon starts rambling about his day while the rest of the Starks have their own, closed off conversation. Jon's in the middle of a story about what Grenn and Pyp did in the cafeteria that day when Theon looks to his left and realizes that Robb isn't at the table.

"Hey, why isn't Robb here?" he interrupts Jon.

Jon looks up and takes a moment to look put out before admitting, "He told Catelyn that he was sick, so he's eating in his room."

"You're acting like he's faking it."

"Well..." Jon pushes his chicken around his plate moodily. "He's been texting Jeyne a lot. Not Sansa's friend Jeyne, the Westerling girl."

Theon doesn't know her, and a surprising burst of betrayal flares up in his stomach. It's a cliche thing to say, but he and Robb more or less _do_ tell each other everything, and Theon feels slightly hurt that Robb hasn't told him about a new girl. "And what, you think he's up there having phone sex with her instead of dinner?"

Bran looks over at them curiously.

"I never said phone sex," whispers Jon defensively. "I think he's going to ask her to the dance, and he wanted to be alone when he did it."

"Wait, there's a dance? Is it one of those lame ones through the school?"

"Uh-uh, I think Wylla and her hippie friends thought it up. It's a fundraiser ball or whatever."

The Manderlys live in White Harbor, and Wylla used to have playdates with Robb and Jon when they were all five. Now, she's cut her hair and dyed it lime green and started protesting animal rights issues outside of the Dreadfort Meat Factory. She still believes mermaids are real. Theon likes her.

Theon asks, "So what, are you going or not? You could take Sam."

"Ha, ha." Jon scowls at him. "Sam's got a date already, with a girl, and I wasn't going to take him anyways." He takes a breath, and blurts out at top speed: "This senior girl asked me to go with her and I think I said yes."

"Holy shit, dude!" Theon kicks Jon triumphantly under the table. "Who? Is she hot?"

"You wouldn't know her.” Jon shifts in his chair, and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Her name's Ygritte, she sits with the hockey team at lunch. And don't tell Robb or Dad, because neither of them would approve and I think I might actually have a shot with her."

Theon does know Ygritte Wilde. She's friends with Tormund and Mance, the two hockey players that live even farther north than they do, who used to prank-call Jon last year. "Is she the chubby one? Red hair?"

"Yeah. Don't call her chubby if she becomes my girlfriend, though."

“Who’s Sam going with? I didn’t know he even liked girls.”

“Well, he’s bisexual, but we can’t tell Sam’s dad or else he’ll kick him out of the house for real. But it’s Gilly Craster, and she’s-”

“The pregnant girl?”

“-- yeah.”

“You have some weird friends, Snow.” Theon sits back in his chair and chews thoughtfully on his green beans. “Speaking of. You think your hot friend Val would go with me to the dance?”

Jon snorts. “She’s too good for you.”

Theon doesn’t argue with that. “Maybe I’ll ask Kyra.”

“I thought you were too cool to go to dances,” says Jon facetiously. 

He grins, showing his teeth. “I don’t go for the dance itself, dumbass, I go for what happens _after_ the dance. Get it?”

“Oh, seven hells,” groans Jon.

“I don’t get it,” interjects Bran, and Theon howls with laughter.

It’s a good “family gathering,” all things considered. Even if Robb stays in his room the whole time.

+

Cam-me-2-u.com works like this: you click the CONNECT ME button and it hooks your video feed up with a completely random guest's computer. You get to choose if you want to just sext over the chat function or if you want your partner to see you. Theon usually the CAM button so the other users can see him. There’s nothing wrong with a little exhibitionism.

It’s a warm night -- at least, as warm as it can get up in the north -- and Theon’s at his desk, his homework shoved to the side to make room for his laptop. 

The first user that the site pairs Theon with is a teen a bit older than himself, but his camera's tilted upwards enough for Theon to see his face, and Theon ends the feed. The best part about cam-me-2-u is the ability to remain completely anonymous, and Theon doesn't want to accidentally recognize some poor guy he might know from school. (Technically, underage teenagers like Theon aren't allowed on explicit websites such as this one, but Theon's willing to risk it. Besides, Ironborn teens come of age when they're sixteen, so really, Theon's a year past.)

The next user is a chubby, shirtless white guy with a lot of hair on his chest, sitting in what looks like a basement with no windows and a single door. He's seriously not Theon's type, but the guy has his face hidden and Theon's horny, so he types LOOKING FOR A SHOW? into the chat box. The site doesn't enable sound on the cameras, so the users have to interact silently or over chat.

The guy starts pumping Aveeno hand lotion into his palm, and Theon figures that's a _yes_. He leans forwards so the camera can see his chest and torso but not his face and slowly starts taking off his shirt. He's a pro at this.

Eagerly, his partner starts pulling off his sweatpants and underwear. The other guy's cock is on the small side, but maybe it's because he doesn't appear to have shaved between his legs in around thirty years. Theon wrinkles his nose and starts unbuttoning his own jeans, swaying his hips from side to side.

He's got his pants halfway down his thighs when the guy starts jerking himself off, and that's when the door to the guy's right swings open and a woman appear in the frame.

"Holy shit," Theon blurts out, and starts laughing. The poor naked guy on the other end of the camera appears to be pleading with the woman, who's yelling and gesticulating wildly at his computer, with a hand full of lube and his small hard cock poking up between his legs. Theon starts laughing, and the feed cuts off. 

THE OTHER USER HAS DISCONNECTED THE CALL, chirps the little message bubble on Theon's computer, and he mutters "no shit" before clicking FIND ME A NEW PARTNER.

The site connects him to a guy whose username is DARQSTAR, which is not only ridiculous but plain stupid- having personal usernames can betray the user’s identity. Most users, including Theon, let cam-u-2-me choose a default for them. Theon’s is 19235200. 

At least Darqstar’s camera isn’t showing his face or anything idiotic like that. He’s pretty decent-looking from the chest down, too. His skin is sand-colored, a little lighter than Theon’s. T/B/S? asks Darqstar, which means, _top, bottom, or switch,_ and Theon answers with a B. 

Darqstar asks Theon to finger himself for him, and Theon obliges. He can’t help it -- he really likes being ordered around. Theon straddles his desk chair and twists backwards for the camera while Darqstar types encouraging little messages -- _that’s it, good boy, spread your legs_. The air feels hot and damp against Theon’s skin as he lubes his fingers with the KY that he keeps in his desk drawer and carefully works one inside of himself, lifting his hips to show the camera. He inhales sharply and thanks the Drowned God that Mrs. Stark is out of the house on a grocery run and that her children are playing Mario Kart downstairs. He’s been doing this enough times that he knows he might get loud.

Theon’s breath is coming shallow and fast as he works himself open, carefully craning his neck far enough to obey Darqstar’s typed little commands ( _faster, come on, wider_ ) but not to reveal his face. Despite the exhibitionist kink, Theon is absolutely terrified of anyone seeing his face, even a few strands of his hair. He doesn’t even want to think about someone recognizing him.

Darqstar keeps typing _good boy, good boy_ which would probably have seemed unoriginal to Theon had he not been so ridiculously horny, but since he is, Theon hears himself whimpering in arousal as he grinds back onto his fingers. He's muttering "fuck, _fuck,_ " and he can feel his cock twitching between his legs and he knows he must look like a mess because God knows he's this close to shooting off-

THE OTHER USER HAS DISCONNECTED THE CALL.

"Oh, what the fuck?" snaps Theon, and wipes his fingers off on an old gym teeshirt.

He takes a minute to breath before clicking FIND ME A NEW PARTNER, because if Theon doesn't get off soon he's going to have a killer case of blue balls in the morning.

He chooses the simple chat option, because it's easier for him to come when he doesn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him, and cam-u-2-me sets him up with another chatter instantly.

The next guy’s username is 4623986, which is good -- clearly into privacy, just like Theon, thank the Drowned God. His profile picture is just a grainy shot of his torso, hand on his erect cock, so close to the camera that Theon can’t make out any incriminating detail about 4623986 other than a tight stomach and the start of muscular legs. He’s probably around Theon’s own age, which is a nice change. The only thing that distinguishes his picture from millions of other guys’ on the site is the dainty silver bracelet with a heart charm around his wrist, which makes Theon raise an eyebrow, but he doesn’t disconnect.

There's a moment of inactivity when the new partner doesn't type anything, so Theon introduces himself with T/B/S? 

_what?_ comes the reply. It looks hesitant, that one word alone on Theon's screen.

TOP, BOTTOM, OR SWITCH, explains Theon. There is a long pause before the guy on the other end of the chat sends the single word _switch_ back.

There is a pause. Theon isn’t very good at making conversation online; he’s used to other guys taking the lead. He awkwardly types, BE MY TOP?

 _okay_ , the other guy responds, just as awkwardly. _get on your knees?_

Even through text format, Theon can tell he’s shy. YES, SIR, he types, and waits for 4623986 to respond.

_you don’t have to call me sir._

YES, SIR, types Theon, because he’s an asshole.

4623986 sends him a scowly emoji, and Theon bursts out laughing.

 _get on your knees,_ he repeats.

I AM.

Another pause, and then: _i’m taking off my pants._

I’M PULLING DOWN YOUR ZIPPER W/ MY TEETH

 _you’re so hot,_ says the next message, all lowercase and slightly tentative. Theon laughs, and sends back another message with one hand on his cock, and then another, and another, until he comes, gasping into his pillow. It’s late, and Theon’s so sleepy that he barely has the energy to wipe his come off of himself before falling into his bed.

 _i’ll cam you tomorrow,_ promises the last message, and Theon falls asleep grinning.

+

The next day, Theon drives Robb and Jon to school instead of Mrs. Stark (thanks to his new job, Mr. Stark’s been spending all his time in the capital). It feels weird, being behind the wheel of her massive minivan, but it also fills him with a smug sort of excitement- pride, really. It’s almost as though she trusts him.

Almost. He’s still a Greyjoy.

But he doesn’t dwell on that.

Robb’s riding shotgun, one arm resting on the window frame, and the cold wind is ruffling his hair. Jon, who has been complaining about having to sit in the back, is leaning forwards, yelling at Robb to close the damn window before they freeze. The radio is playing an old 70’s disco song, and Robb flips through the stations before he finds Jon’s favorite emo station and they both sing along to Nickelback, completely unironically.

“Turn that shit off,” Theon says, and elbows Robb. He grins at Theon and twists the volume button until the angsty metal fills the car, and Robb laughs at Theon’s annoyed face.

“Mom never lets Jon play his emo crap when she drives us,” reasons Robb. He’s so considerate of others, it hurts Theon’s teeth.

“Aww, you’re such a sweetheart,” teases Theon, and Robb pretends to preen.

They drive through the Riverlands in silence. The music swells, and then ends, giving way to a string of commercials. Jon remembers that he has unfinished AP History homework due first period, and there is a rush back seat for him to find his backpack and try to scribble down half a page of an essay in twenty minutes. For all intents and purposes, it’s an average morning, except for two things: 4623986’s promise to cam him later, and Robb’s sudden discussion with Jon about Wylla’s fundraising dance.

“You should totally ask Ygritte, bro,” Robb is saying when Theon tunes into their conversation. “Unless you’re going with Sam?”

“Why does everyone think-” starts Jon, and sighs. “Sam’s going with someone else.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Robb says earnestly, and Theon laughs.

Jon kicks Theon’s seat. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have anyone to go with, asshole.”

“Riiiight,” drawls Theon, and keeps his eyes on the road.

Robb’s eyes flicker towards him. “Wait, you’re going?”

“He says he goes for what happens _after_ the dance,” smirks Jon.

“Oh, gross.” Robb punches Theon’s arm. “Good thing no one’s going with you, dude.”

Theon pretends to check his imaginary watch. “Wylla’s dance is on Friday, isn’t it? I got time.” He pauses before nonchalantly asking, “So who’re you taking to the ball, Prince Charming?”

Robb blushes and averts his eyes. He looks embarrassed, almost slightly ashamed.

“Tellllll me,” insists Theon. He’d expected Robb to say Jeyne Westerling and be done with it, but he’s acting weirdly, all flushed and shy.

“I’m taking Jeyne Westerling,” he says after the awkward silence.

“What a surprise,” Jon teases. His words sound hollow. 

Jon, Theon has noticed, is one of those people who has constantly been excluded, even by his real and adoptive family. In this regard he is much like Theon himself. The difference between them is that Jon has become incapable of ever sounding happy when speaking of things that have left him out, such as a happy romantic relationship, whereas Theon took it upon himself to simply laugh at the world and its cruelty.

It isn’t the Ironborn way of dealing with things, and it isn’t the Stark way of dealing with things. It’s just his.

“Aw, Jon, it’s okay. Ygritte still wants to jump your bones, right?” consoles Theon.

“Oh, fuck you, Greyjoy.”

“You don’t mind?” interrupts Robb hesitantly, looking at Theon. “I mean, that I’m going with Jeyne?”

Theon raises his eyebrows. “You asking for my approval to get laid, bro?”

“Not to get laid!” yells Robb. “Just, you know. If you don’t have a date. I don’t want you to, like, be alone or anything.”

Surprisingly, Theon can’t think of a way to answer this. He looks at Robb, eyes all wide and gentle and shit, and he thinks about him dancing with a girl for probably the first time in his life. Robb’s his best friend. Used to be, his _only_ friend, before Jon and Loras and the others.

He thinks about slowly being edged out of Robb’s friend group, because that’s what happens in high school. You lose your best friends, after all. It’s just what happens. 

And Robb isn’t supposed to hang around with people like Theon anyways. Robb’s a good, rich, white kid. Theon isn’t any of those adjectives. Theon deserves to be shunted out of Robb’s life. It should have happened a long time ago, anyways, like when Robb’s dad died and Robb needed someone to hold him and stroke his hair and tell him that everything was okay. He should have gone to one of the Mormonts, or the Karstarks, or even the Manderlys. Not Theon.

“Theon?” asks Robb quietly.

And Theon does the only thing he can do. He grins at Robb, and teases, “You want my blessing to fuck Jeyne, dude, you have it. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.” And he laughs, because what else can he do?

+

Mrs. Stark doesn’t get home from work until six at night, so Theon has roughly two hours after school to fuck around on his computer before he has to pretend to do homework. The first thing he does when he gets to Winterfell is opening up cam-u-2-me and check to see if 4623986 is online. He isn’t, and Theon doesn’t really feel like jerking off to anyone else right now, so he opens up his regular, non-porn chat app and messages Loras until they both get bored. Loras is going to the dance with his much older boyfriend Renly, who’s twenty-one and can now buy them booze. Theon says he’ll see them there, and Loras logs off. He messages Kyra to see if she’d go with him, but Kyra says she’s dogsitting her friend’s hounds that night. It’s a pretty shitty excuse, but Theon decides not to press it. He’s tired from the school day, physically and emotionally. Theon checks once more to see if 4623986 is online once more, finds nothing, and leans back in his chair defeatedly.

His phone buzzes, and Theon starts. The number is one he doesn’t recognize, and he very warily presses ACCEPT. _It’s fucking 2015,_ he thinks, _who calls anymore?_

“Theon? Is this Theon Greyjoy?” snaps a businesslike voice.

“Yeeees,” he replies cautiously. “Who are you?”

“Jory Mormont.”

“Who?”

“Theon, I’m your lab partner! I’ve been in your Physics class for months!” cries the voice on the other end. 

Theon takes a brief moment to feel guilty, but it passes. “Oh, yeah, Jory. Hey, what’s up?”

She huffs. Theon doesn’t remember Jory being this aggravated in person. Mainly, he remembers her as a quiet chubby junior, as well as being the best kind of lab partner to have because she did all the work while Theon messed around with Viserys Targaryen in the back of the room. “Are you going to Wylla’s fundraiser ball?”

“Um.” He blinks. “Are you asking me out?”

“Ew, no!” Jory sounds genuinely offended, which makes Theon laugh. “I’m setting you up.”

“Huh.” This is an interesting plot twist; Theon always figured that if someone was going to play wingman for him, it would be Loras. “And why are you doing this?” Not that he’s complaining. Kyra was more or less his last option, unless Jon comes around and lets Theon ask Val out.

“My friend needs a date. Like, seriously, I don’t think she’s been out of the house in two months.”

“Oh, great. Who is she?” Because, yeah, Theon is this desperate to ask for help to get a date for a dance he doesn’t even want to go to.

“Jeyne Poole. Do you know her? She’s a freshman.”

“Sansa’s friend?” Theon says reflexively. “Yeah, I kinda know her. Not a lot, but she’s like fourteen.”

“You think you could take her to the dance? Please. She really needs it. And she somehow thinks you’re hot, so it would make really her happy.”

Theon privately wonders what happened to Jeyne to make her so depressed that going out with him would seem like such a prize, but he grins and says, “Yeah, whatever. Can you give me her number?”

“Thank you!” cries Jory. “Theon, thank you so much. I’ll give you her digits in Physics. Just don’t try and fuck her, okay?”

“Whoa!” he interrupts. “Jory. _Jory._ I’m not that much of a whore that I’d fuck a freshman, okay? She’s thirteen.” He laughs. “Seven hells, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

He can hear Jory sniff haughtily on the other end, suddenly sober. “Right. You can blow sophomores, _sure_ , but younger than that and you’ve got limits.”

“Ex _cuse_ me? Who the fuck have _you_ been gossiping with? I don’t blow sophomores.” Theon has made some questionable choices regarding his sex life, mostly illegally masturbating on camera for older men, but he tries not to fuck around with people more than a year younger than him. He’ll be turning eighteen in a few months, and the last thing Theon needs is a statutory charge.

“You and Robb aren’t super subtle,” snaps Jory.

“Robb?” _Robb?_ “Robb’s my best friend, goddamnit. Why in the hells would you think I’m blowing him?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe because everyone does. And you can stop acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about, because all I need for you is to do one good thing in your life and take Jeyne Poole to Wylla’s dance.”

Theon drops the phone and covers his eyes. How the fuck do people think that he and Robb are together? It’s not like every guy that Theon is friends with is automatically fucking him (except for Loras, and, okay, Viserys, but that was once).

He gets worried. It’s unlikely, but if this rumor gets to the Starks, he’s fucked for sure. Critically fucked. Lethally fucked. There is no way that Mrs. Stark would let him stay in her home if she thought that her son was boning him, and Mr. Stark might just screw Child Protection Services and behead Theon himself.

Theon puts his head in his hands and tries to breathe normally.

There’s a knock on his door, and Theon screams, “Don’t come in!” before realizing that screaming at Mrs. Stark is never a good idea, and he might already be on bad terms with him- _oh god what if she already knows_ \- and he scurries to pull open his bedroom door.

“Hey,” says Robb curiously. His cheeks are flushed from the cold air outside, and his hair is messy from the wind. He’s wearing his snow boots indoors, and with the extra height, he’s taller than Theon is. Suddenly, Robb appears to be taking so much room in Theon’s doorframe, like Theon has just realized how tall and broad Robb was grown since they were kids, not the round-cheeked little nerd that Theon used to play with in the sandbox. When Theon wasn’t looking, Robb had to go and grow up on him, and now he’s… handsome.

“Oh, god,” Theon mutters, and steps backwards. Jory’s words ring in his ears like a catchy melody you can’t get out of your head: _you can blow sophomores… maybe because everyone does_. 

“You okay?” Robb asks.

“I’m fine,” snaps Theon. “Dude. What do you need? Or are you just going to stand there all day? I have _things_ to do.”

Robb looks hurt. “I’m- gods, I’m _sorry._ I heard yelling. Didn’t you yell my name?”

Theon wants to die. Theon wants to spontaneously combust before he has to continue this conversation. “Nope,” he grits out. “I’ve just been, um, fucking around on the phone with Loras.”

There is a pause. Robb tilts his head; he’s like a goddamn direwolf puppy when he does that. “Bro. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Theon rubs at his eyes and lets out a long breath. The key here is not to let on that apparently people think he’s interested in Robb, because that would absolutely annihilate their friendship. “Just- long, confusing day,” he says evasively “ And I guess I’m, uh, taking Jeyne Poole to the dance.”

“Sansa’s friend?” Robb leans against the doorframe, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously?”

“Not my idea, man, don’t give me that look.” Theon exhales dramatically. “I just, like, get this call from Jorelle Mormont, you know her, and she’s like- hey! you wanna take this freshman to the dance? if you don’t, you’re an asshole- and I’m like, sure, Kyra’s out of town, so yeah.”

“Seven hells,” laughs Robb. “Sansa’s going to be pissed, you know that?”

“Pissed about what?” comes Sansa’s voice from behind Robb, and he moves to let her into the doorframe.

“Hi, Sansa,” Theon greets her weakly, and plops down on his bed. “I might, um, be taking your best friend to the dance?”

“Oh, my god, you said yes?” cries Sansa ecstatically, and suddenly she’s pushing Robb aside to jump onto Theon’s bed and hug him. Theon makes a strangled noise of surprise as her thin arms squeeze his chest, and Robb is laughing like the asshole he is as Sansa crows, “Thank you so much! Jeyne really needs it. Will you buy her a corsage? You should ask her what kind of dress she’s wearing so you can coordinate it with the corsage and your tie,” and Arya yells from the next room over for Sansa to shut up so she can finish watching women’s wrestling, and Bran yells for her to be quiet because the Reeds are over, and baby Rickon starts wailing loudly from down the halls, and it’s good. 

Theon lets Sansa press a single kiss against his cheek and thinks about his real family, back home in Pyke or in the ground, rotting away, but he pushes it out of his head. He makes eye contact with Robb and he laughs.

+

Later that night, 4623986 messages him. It’s more desperate than last time: _are you horny, i wanna fuck you_ , but Theon doesn’t mind. He listens for Mrs. Stark, pulls off his pants, and sends back, YOU WANT A SHOW?

Theon ends up sending a video message of him fucking himself on the seven-inch dildo that Loras got him for his last birthday, and 4623986 doesn’t ever message him again after that.

+

Jeyne Poole looks smaller than the last time Theon saw her. Her dress, unlike literally every other girl’s at the dance, comes down to her knees with long, long sleeves. She gives off the appearance of hiding under the folds of cloth, and it makes Theon a little sad, but Jeyne is smiling at him and he decides that she can’t be feeling too bad. Her smile displays a broken front tooth, and he does his best not to wince.

“I think light pink is a really nice color on you,” Sansa says happily, and Wylla nods. 

“Oh, definitely,” agrees Wylla. Her dress is lemon yellow and artistically ripped in three places, clashing magnificently with her lime green hair. “It brings out the color in your cheeks, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Theon says awkwardly, and all four of the girls turn to look at him. “What?”

“Go get changed,” Jory orders, standing three inches higher than her normal five feet in big black heels. She shoos Theon out of Sansa’s room, where they’ve made camp, and Theon retreats back towards his own. “And remember, wear the purple tie, not the black one! We wanna bring out the color in your cheeks, too!”

“Ha ha,” mumbles Theon to a chorus of giggles. _White girls._

He finds Bran in Theon’s room, who sits on his bed with Summer and absentmindedly watches Theon pull on his dress shirt. “Meera’s going to the dance, you know.”

“Cool.” Theon’s spoken to Meera Reed maybe once, back when she was Bran’s babysitter and not his best friend. She’s a tall, strange girl with tangly hair that smells a little like frogs, so obviously Bran adores her. “You want me to say hi to her or something?”

Bran shrugs, and pulls one of Theon’s pillows to his chest. “I asked her if she wanted to hang out with me and Jojen tonight, but she said no. We were gonna do an X-Men movie marathon.” He looks helpless. 

“Well, she is five years older than you,” Theon says as nicely as he can while distractedly trying to knot his stubborn purple tie around his neck. “You can’t expect her to be friends with you forever.”

Speaking of, Robb’s already gone. He left thirty minutes ago to have dinner with Jeyne Westerling’s parents, because they adore him. Theon’s pretty sure that Robb’s the only one in the house who can tie a tie (other than his mom, and she’s out for drinks with a few of the other neighborhood moms), and now Theon’s stuck here with the little Stark kids and a group of unhelpful teenage girls.

“Not for forever,” mumbles Bran. “Just long enough for us to, like, hang out.”

Theon obviously does not have time for this- the dance is starting in thirty minutes and it’ll take them twenty to drive there and he _still can’t tie the fucking tie_ \- but he takes ten seconds to hunch down to Bran’s eye level and reassure him, “I’m pretty sure Meera still likes you, okay, dude? Just don’t be weird about it. And I mean even weirder than usual. Now, is there anyone in this house who can tie this goddamn noose?”

The tie disaster is narrowly averted by having Arya’s creepy friend Jaqen knot it for him. He is twenty-one, and Theon’s pretty sure he’s banned from Winterfell, but Mrs. Stark is out and Arya makes him promise that he won’t rat her out. “Have a good time tonight,” Jaqen says ominously, and then adds, “All men must die.”

“Gotcha,” mutters Theon faintly, and makes a mental note to ask Robb if his sister’s joined a cult. Robb’s fucking family, honestly.

Sansa’s date, a Vale boy named Harry, is taking her in his car, but the rest of them have to pile into Wylla’s hybrid car. Theon begs Wylla to let him drive, because she’s wearing five-inch stilettos, but she waves him off and lets Jory jump into the shotgun seat. Theon’s relegated to the back seat with Jeyne, who smiles timidly at him as Wylla and Jory chatter up front. He remembers what Jeyne used to be like, just as chirpy and twittery as Sansa, and now she rides next to him in complete silence.

When they get to the dance, Theon helps Jeyne out of the car like she’s fragile, which she might be.

The dance is being held in Griffin’s Roost, because Wylla’s family is rich as fuck (they’re in the restaurant business and make tons of dough off their meat pies) and can afford to rent the ballroom. Theon’s been here a couple times before to hang out with Aegon Connington, who was really more of his friend in middle school than now, ever since Aegon dyed his hair blue. Aegon himself is talking to Daenerys Targaryen, the weirdest girl in school (rumored to carry around her pet lizards in her backpack), and he and Theon exchange cool nods. 

“You wanna dance, or something?” Theon asks Jeyne offhandedly as they purchase tickets. He’s scanning the room for Robb and Jeyne Westerling, or at least Loras or Jon or someone that he can hang out with. Dancing isn’t really his thing, but he got out of therapy to take Jeyne to the dance, so he’ll try to enjoy himself.

In response, Jeyne nods wordlessly, smiling up at him in a way Theon doesn’t think he deserves. Her chipped tooth winks at him, and he smiles back painfully.

He finds Viserys Targaryen at the punch table, wearing a similar purple tie to Theon’s, except that Viserys’ has tiny gold dots embroidered on his. “Who is this?” is the first thing Viserys exclaims at the sight of Jeyne in her conservative dress, not kindly. “Seven hells, Greyjoy. Is Kyra out of town or something?”

“Dogsitting, and hey, back off,” Theon says, and feels gallant. “Who’s your date, lizard boy? You paying Doreah to go with you again, like homecoming?”

“Fuck you,” mutters Viserys, as Jeyne stares on wide-eyed. “It’s Arianne Martell, for your information, even though she- hold on! Is my sister talking to Daario fucking _Naharis_ again? That slut! I am going to-”

“Okay, bye, dude,” calls Theon as Viserys storms in the direction of Daenerys. To Jeyne, he explains simply, “He’s crazy.”

Jeyne giggles. “Can I dance with you now?”

It’s the first words she’s said to him all night, and they sound oddly worded, but Theon’s her date- a reluctant date, yes, but her date anyways- so he guides her to the dance floor without protest.

+

Theon’s surprised at how good of a time he’s having. Wylla’s hired the Sand Snakes, Dorne’s best rock band, to play for the dance, and everyone else seems to be having a good time. He and Jeyne have run into a cavalcade of partygoers, including: Jon and Ygritte, both drunk out of their minds and ridiculously handsy with each other; Loras and Renly, the best dressed on the dance floor; and surprisingly enough, his sister, all the way from the Ironborn reservation on the Islands.

“I came to see Alysane and her sister,” Asha explains boredly, taking a hit from her hip flask. Her dress is the color of an AK-47, and her red lipstick looks wet and poisonous against her dark skin. “We’ve been dating for a couple of months now. You know.”

“Sure,” Theon says awkwardly. He hasn’t seen Asha in over a year, not since the time he traveled to Pyke last summer and ended up wanting to kill everyone on the island, including himself. They’re still not really on good terms, and it’s weird to be here, making nice with Asha while the Snakes wail into a mic. Jeyne is away dancing with Sansa, and Theon feels the inexplicable urge to call her over, to rescue him from Asha.

Asha’s eyes follow his to Jeyne. “That’s your date? Wow. And I thought that Stark kid was too young for you.”

“I’m not- she’s not- why does everyone think I’m dating Robb!” yells Theon, making Alys Karstark jump in surprise. “I’m not dating Jeyne. I’m doing her a favor-”

“Aww, you’re such a _nice guy_. Where’s your fedora?”

“-fuck off, okay, and I am _certainly_ not dating my best friend!”

“Riiiight. Look, I get the Sevenmas cards that Catelyn Stark sends, even if Dad tells me to burn them. You two look awfully close for ‘just friends.’” She’s smirking, like this is some kind of joke, like Asha thinks it’s _funny_.

“Fuck you,” he growls, looking around worriedly to see if Robb has suddenly appeared within earshot. He hasn’t, but Jon Umber Jr. is definitely eavesdropping on them, and Theon flips him the bird. “You don’t know anything about me, you bitch, because you don’t care enough to-”

“ _I_ don’t care enough!” shouts Asha suddenly, making Jon Umber scurry away. “That’s pretty fucking rich, coming from you.”

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t my fault I’m living with the damn Starks, it was Child Services’ fault because of what _your_ father did to me,” snarls Theon. He knows he’s making a scene, but Robb isn’t here, so what’s the fucking point of controlling himself. This is who all the white kids here expect him to be: a savage. An Ironborn savage.

“ _My_ father? _Our_ father, Theon!” 

“He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want me as a son, okay-” Theon is so worked up, he can barely register that someone is tugging at his shirt- “and it’s obvious no one back at the rez wants me in the tribe anymore for being some kind of _traitor_ who was _stolen_ from them and forced to act like a fucking Stark-”

“Mr. Greyjoy, please calm down,” says a cold voice, and it barely sinks in that someone with surprisingly strong arms is pulling him away from his sister until Theon notices that he’s been dragged into a secluded coat closet. When he looks up, eyes heavy with unshed tears, he curses. It’s Aegon’s stepdad.

“You were disrupting the party, son,” says Jon Connington in his deep voice, almost apologetic. “I had to remove you. That Manderly girl’s got me on security.”

Theon says nothing. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars so he doesn’t start crying in front of Connington. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck.”

Connington is clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you here until you calm down, I suppose,” he rumbles, and steps out of the closet, letting the door close behind him. It’s dark in the closet and it smells a little like mothballs, but it’s as good a place as any to sit on the dirty floor and cry. Theon hates himself for getting into another argument with Asha, he hates himself for getting so worked up over Robb and his dad, he hates himself, he hates himself.

The closet door starts opening slowly, and he screams, “FUCK OFF!” because if anyone finds him and tells the rest of the school about Theon Greyjoy crying alone in a closet, he’s doomed.

“It’s just me,” says a soft voice, and Theon lifts his head. He must be a mess, tears and snot running down his face, and he wipes angrily at his cheeks with the back of his hand. 

“Hi, Jeyne,” he says morosely, and goddamnit, he starts sniffling.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, entering the closet and closing the door again. “Shh. Shh.”

“You should go back to the dance,” Theon mutters. She’s supposed to be the weird one in their pseudo-relationship, not him, but it doesn’t matter at this point. “I bet Pod Payne would dance with you.”

“But you’re my date,” Jeyne says, her little voice full of so much sweetness that Theon wants to start crying again. She totters towards him on her high heels and lowers herself to the ground, parking herself next to him and leaning her head on Theon’s shoulder. He does start crying at that, loud ugly sobs, because he doesn’t deserve this girl. “Shh. Shh. It’s going to be okay, okay? I should know.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

They sit in silence for a while, Theon’s breath hitching and Jeyne’s cold small hand on his back, rubbing in slow circles. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone’s done something like this for him- Theon has the sense that his mother must have, when he was little, but his mother is just a memory now.

When he hears the band switch into a slower song, Theon feels Jeyne shift against him. “Do you wanna dance now?”

“No thanks.” He’s probably got red cheeks and swollen eyes; Theon’s pretty sure that he needs a moment or two. “You go. I’ll catch you later.”

Jeyne pauses, then carefully lands a soft kiss on the top of his head, right where his long hair is parted. “Stay safe.”

It’s one of those things that Dacey always tells him, but it makes Theon smile anyways. A genuine smile, too.

+

Theon flicks through pictures of his friends dancing with each other on Snapchat, Instagram, and even Facebook before he gets lonely. His breath has gone down from panicked hyperventilation to a steady flow of air, and he figures that by now no one can tell he’s been sobbing his eyes out in a coat closet. Theon debates returning to the party, but he doesn’t want to run in to his sister again, so he taps cam-u-2-me’s mobile app and searches for someone to chat with.

Darqstar is online, but Theon isn’t up for that. His search is so far proving fruitless: one guy can barely type in the Common Tongue, which is a turnoff; one guy keeps asking Theon to video chat with him, so he disconnects quickly; and the last is probably some girl catfishing him. Theon’s almost bored enough to go find Jeyne, and then a message flashes on his phone: _user 4623986 has messaged you._

His heart skips a beat, and Theon taps the notification so fast it’s like he’s trying to poke a hole in his screen.

 _hey,_ the message says, nothing more.

DID U GET MY VID, types Theon, not pausing to wonder whether or not it was the video that drove 4623986 away in the first place.

 _yeah,_ comes the reply, and then: 

Theon grins, full of pride. He feels brave enough to type, WISH THAT COULD HAVE BEEN U FUCKING ME and then drops the phone in his lap before he says something stupid or hormone-driven.

 _me too._ A small pause, and then: _i wanna fuck u so bad. r u jerking off right now_

YEAH, Theon lies, because it’s probably bad taste to masturbate in a coat closet and even he isn’t that horny so shortly after having a breakdown. Feeling inspired, Theon offers, THINKING OF U. U SHOULD SEND ME A VID OF U JACKING OFF. That would be hot, finally getting to see 4623986, even just his torso and dick. Theon’s been using cam-u-2-me for long enough to know that 4623986 is probably a total creep, even if he’s around Theon’s age and not some old fat perv, but he’s willing to find out.

_cant. sorry. busy. later i promise_

Theon stares at his phone for a long minute, trying to decide what kind of response he should give until he settles on the easiest option: turning his phone off and slipping it into his pocket. The Snakes are still playing outside and he’s wiped all his tears off his face and the night is young. Jeyne’s curfew is eleven, and it just turned ten, so Theon stands up and walks out of the closet with as much confidence as he can muster.

It’s darker outside than it was when he went into the closet, and the bright lights have dimmed substantially, casting red and blue shadows over everyone. Theon watches the partygoers from the sidelines of the dance floor, looking for Jeyne. He finds Mya Stone and Myranda Royce, Sansa’s friends, making out in a corner. He finds Pod Payne dancing awkwardly with Brienne, a huge senior girl who looks exasperated. He finds Meera Reed chatting with Val and Alys and Sigorn, and he wonders idly he should say hi. And then he finds Robb.

He’s dancing with Jeyne Westerling, his hands on her hips, her head nestled in the crook of his strong shoulder. The band is playing a fast song but they’re slow dancing, looking peaceful and flushed and totally in love, and Theon’s stomach starts hurting for no reason. Robb’s happy there, in Jeyne’s tight embrace, and it’s never been more clear: he doesn’t need Theon. He never has, because Robb’s a good person and people love him and neither of those things apply to Theon.

“Theon,” Jeyne Poole says from behind him, her voice sweet and melodic and sounding like it’s coming from the far end of a tunnel. “Are you feeling better now? Can we go dance together?”

Theon can’t reply. Jeyne Westerling whispers something into Robb’s ear, and he laughs, his eyes crinkling and shining. It’s disgusting. It’s awful. Theon wishes he’d never come out of that coat closet.

“Do you think-” he starts, and breaks off. “Asha and Jory and, god, I don’t even know who else. They all thought I was in love with him.”

Jeyne’s eyes follow his to Robb, who is staring lovingly at the other Jeyne. “I did, too, when I was younger.”

“Yeah?” Theon feels sick, dizzy.

“I guess so. You always looked at him like he was your- your Prince Charming, or something. Oh, Theon, I don’t know. You just seemed to love each other a lot.”

“Not anymore, huh,” mutters Theon bitterly, trying for a smile. 

Jeyne’s eyes, when he manages to meet them, are brown and thoughtful and a little sad. “I don’t know. Do you love him now?”

“He’s my best friend.” Theon stares blankly out at the dance floor, staring at all the couples smiling and laughing. “He’s my brother.”

Jeyne puts an arm around his waist and leans her head against his shoulder, petting his long hair comfortingly. “I’m okay if you wanna go home now. I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

He snorts. “Fun patting my back and watching me cry? You’re too nice, Jeyne.”

“Oh, it was much better than what I used to do for fun,” says Jeyne offhandedly, and appears to catch herself, as if shocked. She casts a guilty gaze at Theon, and he chooses to ignore it. Jeyne’s funny, so full of shyness and fear and maybe pain, and she holds it all inside because she doesn’t want it to hurt anyone else. Theon sees a little bit of himself in her, and he realizes that he really likes this strange little girl with her round brown eyes and hopeful smile.

“We’ll stay for a little while longer,” he reconciles, and Jeyne’s face lights up. “I gotta dance with you a few times, right? I’m your date.”

+

They have more fun than Theon would expect, whirling around the dance floor with Sansa and her friends. Jeyne is clearly taken with Sansa’s date, and Theon and Sansa sit out for one dance while Harry and Jeyne dance together.

“He’s a good guy,” offers Theon, watching Harry dip her low as Jeyne laughs.

Sansa places her cool, thin hand on top of Theon’s, and he starts. “You’re a good guy too,” she says, all earnestness and wide blue eyes. “It meant a lot to her, to go with you. She’s always thought you were cute, since we were- oh my gods, are you blushing?”

At twenty to eleven, Theon fetches Jeyne from the dance floor and hails a taxi for her so she doesn’t miss curfew. Jeyne’s eyes are bright and happy and she kisses Theon twice as he deposits her in the cab, once on his cheek and once on his ear as she whispers, “Thank you! Thank you! Have a good night!” Theon watches the taxi pull away into the night and feels himself smile despite everything he’s been through tonight.

 _Jeyne fucking Poole,_ he thinks to himself. It’s actually the best date he’s had in a while.

Theon doesn’t plan on staying at the dance for long- even with Jeyne gone, there’s a slim chance of picking up a girl. He hangs out with Jon and Sam and their friend Satin for a little while. He flirts with Val. He even says hi to Meera for Bran, because he’s in a good mood.

“Hey, dude,” says a voice to his left, and Theon freezes.

Robb’s wearing cologne- Mr. Stark’s cologne, actually, because Robb doesn’t know how to buy cologne for himself- and Theon can smell him before he turns around and meets Robb’s eyes. Robb’s face is flushed from dancing, his curls a mess, and he has a literal smear of lipstick on his neck. Theon wants to die.

“Bro, hey,” he greets Robb loudly, forcing his voice to sound normal. “Where’s Jeyne?”

“Bathroom. Where’s your Jeyne?”

“She went home. Curfew, you know- freshmen.”

“Cool.” Robb pauses, carding a hand through his hair, and continues nervously, “Have you, um, been avoiding me?”

“What?” Theon’s shocked voice sounds fake even to him. “Dude, your Jeyne’s cute, but I’m not that jealous of you. Trust me.”

“Ha, ha. Right.” Robb looks caught between saying something and staying silent, and he ends up choosing the latter option. There is a long pause where Theon and Robb are quiet, searching for something to say to each other, and coming up with nothing.

“So you and Jeyne Westerling, huh,” says Theon, and it comes out too loud, too sharp-edged.

“I guess.”

“You guess? Bro. I saw you two out on that dance floor, and it looked like more than ‘I guess.’” He wonders if Robb can smell the jealousy on him. In Theon’s mind, jealousy seeps out of every pore like sticky, uncomfortable sweat, polluting the air around him.

“Yeah.” Robb looks at the floor and swallows. It’s a surprising motion, surprisingly vulnerable. It reminds Theon of when they were younger, which just makes his stomach hurt even more. He remember’s Jeyne’s words: _you just seemed to love each other a lot._ What’s changed?

What’s changed, of course, is that Robb grew up to be handsome and strong and brave and he realized that he didn’t need to hang around some pathetic Ironborn reject. 

“Anyways,” and his voice is loud, too loud, “I’m proud of you, man. Good job.”

Robb nods, and Theon’s smile hurts his face.

+

He doesn’t talk to Robb for the rest of the night. He hangs out with Viserys and complains about the music, even though the Sand Snakes are pretty good. He drinks smuggled vodka from Ygritte’s flask until he’s messy drunk. He gets a ride home from Aegon and tries not to puke in his nice car as Aegon prattles on about old times. He stumbles to the back door and tries not to puke in Mrs. Stark’s flower beds. He ends up vomiting on the Stark’s clean tiled bathroom floor. 

It’s one in the morning, and the sky outside of the bathroom window is black and silver with stars. Winterfell Mansion is so far north that the city lights don’t pollute the sky, and Theon watches the stars swirl around the sky until he falls asleep.

+

He wakes up at noon, the bright sun streaming in through his bedroom window, with a hangover and a sense of dread that he can’t place until he remembers Robb’s face beaming down at Jeyne. Did he kiss her? Did he take her somewhere after the dance, some motel or someone’s lake house, and fuck her? 

Theon rubs his eyes and decides that it would be really nice to die right now.

His phone, when he turns it on, is lit up with notifications: one text from Jory, one text from Aegon, two from Jeyne, four from Viserys, and a message saying that 4623986 has messaged him at eleven in the morning.

_are u awake?_

AM NOW, Theon replies. He isn’t horny in the slightest but this anonymous man, whoever he is, is paying attention to him when no one else is. U STILL ONLINE?

_yeah._

GOOD. U PROMISED ME A VID :)

He can hear the faint noises of Bran and Rickon downstairs, but he knows Arya’s at her fencing lesson and he’s pretty sure Sansa slept over at Margaery’s house last night. He doesn’t know where Robb is- could be in his room, could be in Jeyne’s room all the way in the Riverlands- but he knows to leave Theon alone when he’s hungover.

U STILL THERE?

THE OTHER USER HAS DISCONNECTED THE CHAT.

“Great,” mumbles Theon, and closes his eyes. He’s so tired- physically, mentally, emotionally. He just wants to stay in bed until he can get out of this fucking house and live his own life and make his own mistakes.

There’s a knock on his door, and Theon ignores it.

“It’s me,” calls Robb softly from behind the door.

Theon keeps his eyes squeezed shut and says nothing.

“Do you want lunch? We saved some for you.”

“Theon?”

“Theon, are you okay?”

It’s rising to the bait, it’s being an emotional dumbass, but Theon rolls out of bed and shuffles to the door. His breath smells like something died in his mouth, so he keeps the door shut and says tightly, “I’m fucking great, Robb. Leave me alone.” And then, because he’s a goddamn masochist: “Go be with Jeyne something.”

“Theon-” There is a long silence, and Theon slumps to the floor, resting his throbbing head against the wall as Robb fumbles on the other side of the door. It’s childish, talking to someone through a door like he’s trying to hide, but damn it, Theon is childish and trying to hide. “Jeyne broke up with me last night. After you left.”

An even longer silence. Theon feels himself blinking in surprise but barely registers the action, like he isn’t the one controlling his movements. “Why?” he manages to mutter.

“Well, it’s not like we were really dating, I guess. She wanted a date for the dance but nothing serious, and _I_ wanted something serious- well, I thought I did.”

“You’re too fucking nice to those girls, Stark,” Theon manages, and he imagines Robb’s sheepish slow smile on the other side of the door. “What’d you mean, _thought you did?_ You’ve always acted like, I dunno, the first girl who you could get into, you’d marry.”

“Ouch.”

“You know it’s true. Seriously, what gives?”

“I still think I want someone serious. Just not her, maybe.”

“Not her? You’ve been thirsting after Jeyne for-” and then Theon’s guts cramp and he races to the trashcan to vomit. Great.

A pause. “Hey, can I come in now, or are you still barfing?”

Theon stands up and magnanimously opens the door, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He’s never felt like more of a mess than now, shirtless and smelling like vomit, hair plastered to his back with sweat. Robb doesn’t seem to mind the smell though, just walks inside and sits on Theon’s bed. This gives Theon time to continue, “You’ve been thirsting after Jeyne for a year now, right? And she just fucks off after one date?”

“Not her fault,” Robb says reasonably, like the prince he is. “She just didn’t want what I wanted.” He shrugs, looking pensive. “Only problem is, she gave me this, like, promise bracelet before we started going out- well, before she knew I liked her, I guess- and she hasn’t asked for it back, and I’m like, _well what do I do now-_ ”

Theon’s brain has frozen.

“That bracelet,” he interrupts. “Seven fucking hells-”

Robb’s got this bracelet on, a _dainty goddamn silver charm bracelet with a heart dangling off it_ -

“What?” says Robb innocently, but there’s still no way this can be a coincidence. Life is too fucked up crazy for things like this to be an accident.

“God, I sent you a video,” Theon says before he can catch himself. “Oh my god, oh _fuck_ -”

“Theon,” says Robb worriedly, because yes he should be worried, “what are you-”

“ _You have that bracelet on in your fucking profile picture, you idiot,_ ” yells Theon, loud enough for the kids downstairs to hear, but he barely cares because “you’re 4623986, aren’t you?”

+

Robb’s face is kind of priceless.

“Oh fuck,” he says in the tiniest voice Theon’s ever heard. “You weren’t supposed to find out- I was gonna tell you later-”

“WHAT,” squawks Theon, “you knew who I was?”

“You sent me a video,” defends Robb shrilly, “Theon, you showed me that dildo as soon as Loras gave it to you-”

“ _When_ were you going to _tell_ me?”

“I don’t know! I was just, like, oh my gods that’s Theon what do I do? I can’t tell him now!”

Theon is ready for death. Theon has never wanted to die more before than this. He presses his face into his palms and mumbles, “Tell me you deleted that video and never thought of it again and I won’t murder you. If you- fuck, if you sent that to anyone, I’ll-”

“I would never!” cries Robb, looking affronted. “I’ll delete it right now, okay? You can watch me do it, I promise-”

“YOU HAVEN’T-” There is a cry from downstairs, telling them to shut up- “ _You haven’t deleted the video already?!_ ”

Robb looks completely agonized. “I can’t win,” he mumbles.

“Robb, why the fuck did you keep that video?” says Theon, breathing heavily. Loras has complained a lot about how the guy he likes is four years older than him and _isn’t that a catastrophe_. Theon’s pretty sure he’s got Loras beat, what with the guy _he_ likes having a pornographic video of himself on his phone and catfishing him for several days straight. “And for that matter, why did you keep messaging me after- FUCK, I said I wanted you to _fuck_ me and you said- oh my god-”

“I’m so sorry,” tries Robb weakly, and collapses onto Theon’s bed again. “Look, I made a mistake, I know you don’t like me but-”

 _Wait, what?_

“Wait, what?”

Horrified, Robb sputters out a vague, “I, uh, meant- like, since neither of us like each other, obviously-”

“Of course I like you,” blurts out Theon, his voice too loud.

Robb looks stricken, and his mouth falls shut. Theon is entirely aware that if he keeps letting his mouth run he’s putting at risk the best friendship he’s had in his entire life, but looking back on the events of last night, he decides that the alternative is pretty shitty too, so he continues, “And if you’re saying that the feeling’s, I don’t know, mutual, even if this had to come out via some stupid fucking gay chat site, that’s fine, and-”

“Oh gods, shut up,” interrupts Robb, his face a mix of terror and elation, his eyes so bright that Theon’s breath is kind of taken away. In a small, meek voice, he mumbles, “You like me? I like you? It… it can be that easy?”

Easy? Theon doesn’t know what to do with that heavy little word, _easy_. He knows that it would be _easy_ to laugh in Robb’s face and pretend it was all a big joke that he and Loras made up, ha ha ha. He knows that it would be _easy_ to just fucking run out of the house and never come back so he’d never have to deal with being maddeningly in love with his best friend. 

He can think of a million other _easy_ ways to deal with this, but instead he takes a deep breath and kisses Robb on his startled, parted lips. (It’s a chaste and closed-mouthed kiss, because Theon really does smell terrible.)

He keeps his eyes closed the whole time. Robb’s mouth is wet and unyielding and Theon doesn’t know if he wants this like he wants it, so he pulls away. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry-”

Robb kisses him, this time reaching up to curl his fingers in Theon’s tangly hair, crushing their mouths together with all the desperation of a sixteen-year-old, and Theon’s so shocked that he laughs, he laughs again, he closes his eyes and kisses him.

+

“How long,” says Robb when they’re sitting on Theon’s bed, shirts off and pants around their ankles, still breathing hard.

“I’d say that took about four minutes.”

“No, asshole.” Robb is grinning shyly. “How long have you… you know?”

“How long have I been able to give a stellar handjob?”

“Shut up. Never mind.”

Theon leans back onto the bed, closes his eyes again, and says, “Since I was, like, ten. Probably after I got stuck here, but before middle school. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“You only liked me a year after you met me?”

“Well, excuse me, you basically were an annoying little shit for the first year we knew each other!” (And there was the fact that Robb was a Stark, and Theon was alone and afraid in a new house

“I was not! I was… a welcoming host!”

“Suuuuure.”

Robb pokes Theon in the stomach and he squawks indignantly. “I brought you ice cream every night for the whole three months you locked yourself in your room! How’s that annoying?”

“I told you I was lactose intolerant, Robb! God!”

“I was a _gracious, welcoming host._ ”

“I could have died.”

“Fuck off.”

There’s a long silence, and Theon gathers up the nerves to say, “Well, what about you, huh?”

“Since I met you,” Robb replies quietly, suddenly sober.

“Oh,” is all Theon can think to say. Out of anybody else’s mouth, those words would have sounded sticky and cliche, but Robb makes the little declaration into something soft, sweet. Theon doesn’t have a lot of _soft, sweet_ things in his life. He wants to cover himself up with some kind of joke, but Robb is staring hopefully up at him, so Theon just grins and kisses him again.

It’s Sunday afternoon, he’s damp with sweat and messy-haired from vomiting all night, and somehow it feels like his entire life has been made up of crooked puzzle pieces and kissing Robb makes them all fall into place.

+

Dinner that night is a celebration. Mr. Stark is home from King’s Landing and he and Wyman Manderly have a barbeque on Winterfell’s massive lawn next to the godswood forest, the smell of cooking meat drifting into the sky like a sacrifice to the northern gods. Everyone up north is invited, and the Stark kids invite their own friends: the Reeds, who bring frog legs for an appetizer that no one touches; the kids from the Vale that Theon had met last night, Harry and Mya and Myranda; Jaqen and Gendry and Hot Pie, who brings dessert. Theon catches Jon and Ygritte making out in the godswood and he and Robb tease Jon for the rest of the night about it. 

Everyone is flushed, bright, giddy. They’re all happy, and Theon realizes with a jolt that he’s happy too.

It’s a surprisingly warm night for North Westeros, and the sun doesn’t go down for ages, hanging in the sky like it wants to watch the action on Winterfell’s lawn. Theon and Robb stay out all night waiting for the sunset like when they were kids, wrestling in the grass and getting mud all over their knees and elbows. Grey Wind snuggles up between them and falls asleep, and Robb’s fingers twine with his on top of his dog. 

Later that night, as he’s about to go to sleep in Robb’s bed, Theon’s phone goes off: there’s a notification from cam-u-2-me, asking if he wants to be friends with some guy with the username 3443579. He yawns sleepily and manages to stay awake long enough to delete his account off the website.

“Hey,” he says drowsily. “Stark.”

“Hmm.”

Theon pauses, because he doesn’t know how to phrase all the little flighty nervous things he wants to say. “We’re still brothers, right? Even if we… you know.”

“Come on.” Robb’s voice is thick with fatigue, but he still snorts out a little laugh. “You’re still my brother, Theon. Now and always, okay?”

“Sounds good.” _Now and always._ It’s soft, sweet, easy, and it makes Theon fall asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest + smuttiest fic ive ever written so kudos is appreciated. yes i am going to peer pressure you into giving me kudos. please
> 
> say hi to me on tumblr im @domericbolton


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